Revolution No. 9 by Neil McMahon Page A

trembled a little. He could read her emotions as clearly as he could hear the forest creatures moving through the night. She was angry, she was afraid, and, like always, she was edgy because she knew that only he possessed the power .
    But he needed her, so he spoke lightly.
    â€œHad to happen, Shrink,” he said. “Motherlode was freaking about the kid. I could feel her getting ready to do something stupid. This will calm her down.”
    â€œYou should take him someplace, man. Like I said.”
    That had been Shrinkwrap’s idea when Mandrake started acting weird—to take him several hundred miles away to another state, and abandon him in front of a hospital. He was too young for anyone to identify, and he’d be taken care of.
    â€œYou still could,” she said. “This is no place for a kid.” She wasn’t bad-looking, although thin as a bird, and she looked more feminine now, with a little pleading in her eyes.
    Her anger was easy to deal with. This softness was not.
    â€œMandrake’s got to get his shit together,” Freeboot said uneasily. “Let it go, okay?” He pulled a bottle of the Monte Alban mescal from a shelf and drank from it, still watching the computer screen.
    It was showing a news clipping from that day’s Atlanta Journal-Constitution —a small item, the kind they stuck down at the bottom of a back page because it wasn’t really news anymore.
    CALAMITY JANE MURDERS STILL A MYSTERY
    Atlanta—The murders of prominent businessman David Bodewell, his wife, and four employees last November 19—dubbed the “Calamity Jane murders” because Bodewell’s collection of rare, so-named golf clubs was later found among the homeless in downtown Atlanta—are no closer to being solved.
    â€œThere’s not much to work with—no motive and no evidence,” an anonymous source inside the police department has stated. “Whoever did it was either real lucky or real careful.”
    Police are continuing to pursue the investigation aggressively. …
    â€œNo, it’s not okay,” Shrinkwrap said hotly. “There’s a million fucking doctors out there. Why’d you have to pick Coil’s dad?”
    â€œBecause Coil’s dad won’t take a chance on sending his kid to prison.”
    â€œWhen’s he going to get that chance? Don’t tell me you’re going to let him go .”
    â€œI want him to think I will. And you never know, he might come in handy down the line.”
    â€œWhat the fuck are you saying—‘down the line’?”
    â€œSome of the shit Coil’s told me, Monks has got a crazy streak,” Freeboot said, with a mocking edge. “Maybe he’ll come around.”
    She stood up from her chair and stabbed toward his chest with a shaking finger.
    â€œQuit fucking around, man. A dumbass trick like this could bring us down,” she said.
    Freeboot gave her a heavy-lidded, measuring look. Shrinkwrap was a psychologist and very smart, but her buttons were easy to push.
    â€œWhere’s Coil?” he said.
    â€œIn our cabin,” she said warily. She knew the gaze she was seeing.
    â€œWhat’s he doing?”
    â€œGetting high, probably.”
    â€œI need him to find me some insulin.”
    â€œHey, lighten up. He just got back from a mission.”
    â€œI’m trying to make him feel more like a maquis , Shrink. Let’s face it, he’s a mama’s boy.”
    She flinched. She was more than fifteen years older than Glenn Monks—the latest in a long series of the bad boys she craved.
    â€œWhat are you going to do, B&E a drugstore?” she said sullenly. “There’s no place within a hundred miles of here open this time of night.”
    â€œDon’t you think maybe I know that?” Freeboot swigged from the mescal bottle again, still watching her.
    She lowered her gaze, defeated.
    â€œHave him hack the local